the blue one speaks

The secret of blue is well kept. Blue comes from far away. On its way, it hardens and changes into a mountain. The cicada works at it. The birds assist. In reality, one doesn’t know. One speaks of Prussian blue. In Naples, the virgin stays in the cracks of walls when the sky recedes. But it’s all a mystery. The mystery of sapphire, mystery of Sainte Vierge, mystery of the siphon, mystery of the sailor’s collar, mystery of the blue rays that blind and your blue eye which goes through my heart.
—  Jean Cocteau, from “The Secret of Blue,” Tempest of Stars: Selected Poems (Enitharmon Press, 1997)

the problem with being an Old Person on tumblr is the daily & soul-splitting dilemma ‘is that a spelling mistake I see or a new fucking meme and if it’s a meme my God, what are the kids doing now and ¿what does it even mean?’

2

“marriage equality in Australia is inevitable. I have a couple of years to wait - I don’t plan of getting married anytime soon, but I feel for the 90 year old lesbian couple that have been dating for the last 60 years - one of them wants to put a ring on the other one. The main goal of Blue Neighbourhood was to speak about LGBTIQ suicide but then - there was a lot of little mini goals, one of them being putting a teenage gay relationship on TV or in music. - it wasn’t necessarily some big statement I was trying to make. I’m gay and I wrote songs, so they’re about boys.”

@aroma-rhineford-cosplay submitted: Reading the Toon Henry series like…
But seriously, can someone give him a suit of armor or something?? What’s the melt/splat count at now; 5?? This poor man needs to REST.
(I’m really loving the story so far tho!!)

((OH GOSH THIS IS GREAT :’D don’t yell oh my gosh. @the-elusive-blue-skittle​ people really love your fic, my dude. and this isn’t the first time someone’s pointed out what a hard time he’s having, either - i see it all over the tags and replies :’D poor little guy. someone does need to protect him. thank you for the (very relatable) art, dear! its adorable! :D <3))

  • Pidge: why the fuck does everyone assume I'm a child
  • Shiro: I hate to break it to you but you do look like you're six
  • Pidge: ...
  • Shiro: ...
  • Pidge: okay but you're the one who's *actually* six so shut the fuck up

helplesslynerdy  asked:

Draw your OC: Donna, 12 and/or 28? Please? ;)

28. In the work-clothes of the job they want or wished they had

(an investigative reporter seems fitting somehow, no?)

and a bonus 12. As a Scene kid

send me a costume doodle prompt!

Protect You - Sandor Clegane

Y/N Stark was much like her father; brave and honorable as Ned himself. One day, that bravery gets her into trouble and an unlikely partnership is formed.

Warnings : Cursing, the reader being beat like Sansa in the second season.

A/N : not much fluff, not going to do a part two. This was just something I had an idea for. 

Originally posted by justasyou-are

Being a Stark, you found it hard to bite your tongue in the moments you needed to most. Those moments had become all too common since you and your sister, Sansa Stark, were trapped in King’s Landing. The palace was full of people, waiting and watching for your next move. Sansa soon caught on, playing for her survival in the Red Keep.

She wore her hair like a true southern lady, while you still adorned the simplistic style of the North. You could still remember how your sister wore her hair the day you both thought your father would be sent to The Wall. You could still remember the way Sansa’s hair looked after she had fainted, dizzy from the view of your father’s execution.

Eddard was the one who taught you right from wrong, holding honor above all gain. So when you were surrounded by lions and little birds that tore down these very values, it was hard to remain collected. Even more hard when Joffrey was the one crashing through with violence.

“Leave her face,” he spat, “I like her pretty.” As soon as the word left your mouth, you darted towards your sister. Before you could reach her, you felt someone grab a hold of your arm. Twisting and turning, you tired to free yourself from the man holding you.

“Don’t fight, lass,” a low voice said in your ear, “you’ll only get it worse.” Despite the man’s warning, you managed to free yourself of his hold just in time. Right when Meryn Trant was about to strike your sister, you jumped in the way. The Kingsguard member’s heavily armoured hand came down on your cheek at full force.

The court gasped as you fell to the ground near Sansa. The iron taste of blood pooled in your mouth as your head rung in pain. You glanced up at Trant, who was looking to the boy King for guidance. You took the quick moment to look over at the man who tried to stop you.

The Hound’s fists were curled and you didn’t have to look to feel his rage. His dark eyes were glued on Trant. His gaze only shifting when he felt your eyes on him. He had caught you staring at him many times before; but this time was different. Normally, your stolen glances were soft, almost affectionate. You knew Sansa’s distaste of Sandor Clegane, but you found him to be intriguing more than frightening. This look, the fury on his face, was different.

“Well, keep going You can carve her face all you like,” Joffrey sneered. Your eyes flicked away from The Hound’s, glaring over at the blond King. Before you could snap at him, you felt one of Trant’s hands ripping at your gown. The grey fabric fell away and you tried your best to hold what you could in place. When he saw this, Meryn kicked at your ribs and legs. The air left your lungs at the strike and you leaned against the floor for support.

Amongst Sansa’s cries, you heard the sound of the door of the Keep opening. Meryn’s assault wavered as the crowd parted.

“What is the meaning of this?! Stop this at once! Someone, cover her!” You recognized Lord Tyrion’s voice, causing you to look up. The youngest Lannister traveled up the steps to scold his nephew as Meryn Trant moved away from your line of vision.

Sansa moved over to you, trying to help as much as she could.

“That was stupid,” she whispered through her tears, “really stupid.”

“It’s what father would’ve done,” you managed to let out. Your words stopped Sansa’s movements, her blue eyes meeting your Stark grey ones. Before either of you could speak, you felt something warm and heavy land across your shoulders.

“C’mon,” said Sandor, extending a hand to you. You took it graciously and stood on your wobbly feet. The Hound moved his arm so you were steady in his grip. Soon after, Sansa stood as well, and started to walk with you and The Hound out of the courtroom. When you turned your head to glance at her, you noticed that she was speaking to Lord Tyrion. You jerked towards her, but Sandor held you still.

“The Imp won’t let her hurt,” he said quietly. He continued to lead you out of the room, away from the ears and eyes of the court. When you were in the empty hallway leading to your chambers, you felt Sandor’s arm tighten around you.

“Thank you, Clegane,” you murmured. The Hound only nodded as he lead you to your room. He pushed your door open and lead you inside. You hobbled over to your bed and Sandor helped you sit on the edge of the feather mattress.

“I’ll get a maester for ya,” he said, moving his arm away from you. You met his gaze, his dark eyes landing on your face. Sandor’s face fell at the sight, his gloved hand lifting as if to brush against your unbruised cheek. Before he could, he thought better of it and let his hand fall back to his side.

“I’ll kill the whiny cunt,“ he spat suddenly, his hand curling back into a tight fist. You reached forwards slightly, grabbing his closed fist. The cool metal of his armoured glove sent tingles under your skin, taking your mind off the pain for a moment.

“Don’t Sandor,” he perked up at the sound of his name coming off your lips. The Stark’s had just called him The Hound, looking down on what scrap of honor he had left. Maybe those look he caught meant something more. “He will pay in other ways,” you continued, “the gods will do their justice.”

“Fuck the gods,” he hissed, his fist uncurling in you palm. “I’d protect ya better than any of the gods.” His words hung in the air, the two of you unable to process what he had said. You held his deep brown eyes, which, for a moment, seemed fearful. Perhaps scared of what he had just said. Before you could make a comment on it, Sandor pulled his hand away.

“I will,” he said coldly. You nodded at him, understanding what that meant. The man everyone feared to look at had promised to protect you in that moment. Without another word, The Hound walked out of your room, leaving you alone to your thoughts.

His thoughts however, were loud and unforgiving. He had had enough of the Lannister’s brutality. Hurting an innocent girl like Y/N Stark was the last straw for him. He felt hate coursing through his veins; and hate was a flame Sandor had been burned by many years before. By now, the dog was used to it’s blazing heat.

Inktober 2017
10/21/2017
Traveling Merchant AU! Featuring Shadow, Blue, and Vio!

Silence Speaks Volumes

@cryingoverlance asked:

Hey could you do one where lance has vv bad volume control issues and at the garrison he learned to kind of control it but once he gets into space it ruins all his progress because you know. space is different than earth. and the team gets really annoyed so he starts to pull away and stop talking (but pls end it on a happy note)


[A/N: I hope I did this justice, I’m sorry it took so long, but hey, I did it! I like it, it’s like,, 2,300 words. I just finally have time to to do all of the prompts I’ve gotten!]

Keep reading

Pre-Kerberos Latte~<3

YOU THOUGHT I’M DONE WITH PRE-KERBEROS SHIPS AND PERIOD BUT NO! YOU’RE WRONG! THAT’S JUST MY SHIT AND ALWAYS WILL BE!

But you know how there’s more Pre-Kerberos Shance(you know, the one where Shiro most likely forgets about Lance after his captivity and shit) or Klance(usually where everything was great but the pilot error happened, Keith left and things just get fucked up),

So how about Pre-Kerberos Latte? I’ve been thinking about the headcannons for this trope but I just wanna know how did they get together in the first place before Kerberos mission takes place and all shit went downhill from there?

I even thought of how they’d meet again but I just can’t really figure out how Latte even happened at the Garrison.

Matt was clearly still a student because of his cadet uniform other than being one of the space exploration pilots back then, so I assumed he was a junior/senior and Lance could have just been a freshman at that time.

Whatever it is, I JUST REALLY NEED TO KNOW HOW THEY GET TOGETHER, ALRIGHT?!

HOW DID THESE TWO DORKS EVEN MEET?

COULD IT HAVE BEEN THAT MATT WAS MAKING A HSM SCENE IN THE CAFETERIA, SINGING AND DANCING ON THE TABLE WHILE OTHERS FROM HIS BATCH PLAYED THEIR CUTLERIES AND PLATES AND GLASSES LIKE INSTRUMENTS & WENT ALONG WITH HIS GOOFY SHIT AND THAT WAS WHEN LANCE FIRST STUMBLED UPON THE UPPERCLASSMEN AND INSTANTLY FELL IN LOVE WITH THE ONE WHO IS SCREAMING ON TOP OF HIS LUNGS ON THE TABLE BECAUSE MATT IS CLEARLY A KEEPER?

OR COULD IT BE THAT MATT AND HIS GANG ACTUALLY HAVE NIGHTLY ROUTINES LIKE DRAGGING OTHER CADETS(ESPECIALLY THE UNDERCLASSMEN) TO SNEAK OUT AND CAUSE TROUBLE WHILE HE ACCIDENTALLY FELL HEAD OVER HEELS FOR THIS ONE BLUE-EYED CUBAN BOI BECAUSE HE SPEAKS MATT’S LANGUAGE AND HAS MONOLOGUED ABOUT LANCE’S BEAUTY TO HIS FRIENDS ALTHOUGH THEY CAN’T CARE LESS ABOUT HIS SILLY CRUSH?

I NEED ANSWERS!!!! I KNOW I’M GUILTY OF MANY SHIPS BUT THIS ONE KEPT ME GETING SIDETRACKED DURING MY SHOOTING TODAY SO PLEASEEEE!!

I’m … ambivalent about left-aligned people using the Gadsden flag as a symbol of Naziism/something to target with antifa. Not angry, exactly. Not even really upset. Just… ambivalent.

… I was raised super conservative. I know these people. … the people who are using the Gadsden flag most, as opposed to the Confederate flag or the Swastika… they’re not Nazis. They’re often skeevy and racist; the Gadsden flag is on the list of Symbolism You Should Run Away From Very Quickly. 

But the people who are biggest on the Gadsden Flag and Don’t Tread On Me ™ are often the less authoritarian conservatives. Libertarians, moderate conservatives, populists. Not always, but often. Which means they’re the ones that can be reasoned with. 

They want … something close to what we want. They want to be left the fuck alone and to live their own lives. They don’t want the State getting up in their business. And yeah, that often means “to not have to respect people who are The Wrong Shade Of Brown/Queer/Female” and “to not have to pay money to support the Undeserving”. 

But it also means “to not be surveilled by the government”, “to not start wars in random resource-rich foreign countries for the lulz”, “to not dictate who I can and can’t marry [because that’s not the State’s job]”, “to not blindly support the troops”, “to not dictate what I can and can’t put in my body”. 

These are people that we can find common ground with. I’ve talked some more libertarian conservatives into agreeing with things like “universal basic income” and “supporting trans rights”. If we as a bloc managed to convince them that we don’t actually hate them and want them dead, we could probably ally with them to get the things we want. We’d have to fight them on some things, but on others? The more voices we have agitating for the same thing, the better.  

IDK, maybe it’s just the last sad gasp of my Red Tribe affiliation. But“We’ll Tread On You” sounds like a boot stomping on a human face forever. Is that actually what we want? 

The secret of blue is well kept. Blue comes from far away. On its way, it hardens and changes into a mountain. The cicada works at it. The birds assist. In reality, one doesn’t know. One speaks of Prussian blue. In Naples, the virgin stays in the cracks of walls when the sky recedes. But it’s all a mystery. The mystery of sapphire, mystery of Sainte Vierge, mystery of the siphon, mystery of the sailor’s collar, mystery of the blue rays that blind and your blue eye which goes through my heart.
—  Jean Cocteau, from “The Secret of Blue,” Tempest of Stars: Selected Poems (Enitharmon Press, 1997)